


Hurricane Blues

by thecarlysutra



Series: Storm [2]
Category: Top Gun (1986)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Healing, Ice is in therapy, M/M, Maverick forgets they're dating, Pool Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-03
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 09:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/pseuds/thecarlysutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: So now they’re in a relationship. What does that mean?<br/>AUTHOR’S NOTES: Takes place at TOPGUN in 1994. A sequel to <i>The Eye of the Storm</i>.<br/>THANKS: A million thanks to ticketsonmyself for the beta. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
       _We are terrible  
       for each other, and, yes,  
       we are a disaster._

       But tell me your heart  
       doesn't race for a  
       hurricane,  
       or a burning building.

       I’d rather die terrified  
       than live forever.  
            —a softer world

 

Maverick couldn’t sleep. He watched the shadows dance across his ceiling, the bars of light from passing cars. Beside him, Iceman slept unsoundly, his muscles jerking to his dreams just like a dog’s did. When he woke in a few hours, Maverick would ask him what he was dreaming about, and be told “nothing.” Lying was one of the few things Ice was terrible at.

***

A new group of students sat before him, soaking up his every word. No matter how many classes he graduated, Maverick never got quite used to this part—being in charge of TOPGUN.

“You’re the best of the best. And, when you graduate from this program, you’ll be even better.”

Ice was in the back, leaning against the wall. His eyes were unreadable behind the metallic shine of his aviators; a smirk was upon his lips. Maverick looked away; fucking distracting, that’s what he was.

***

After releasing the students, Maverick went back to his office. Ice followed; Maverick staggered his gait so he could walk beside Ice and his limp.

Ice took one of the chairs in front of Maverick’s desk. “Who do you like?”

“Huh?”

“The new students. Which one’s gonna be Top Gun?”

“Oh, that.” Maverick studied the roster. “I like Jazz.”

Ice snorted. “You would. All flash.”

“Oh, yeah? Who would you pick?”

“I like Mouse.”

“You know you picked the guy with the wimpiest fucking call sign in history, right?”

“He knows his shit.”

“He knows the rules, you mean,” Maverick said. “He’s technically proficient; that’s the nicest thing I can say about him.”

“Is that the nicest thing you can say about me?” Ice asked.

“Without mentioning your mouth or ass, yes.”

“Want to make it interesting?”

“Sex? I think we already—”

Ice gave him a withering look. “The Top Gun contest, moron. Do you want a bet?”

“Oh, that. Sure. What are the terms?”

“If I win, you’re giving me a blowjob. In your office, on your desk, fucking up all your paperwork.”

Maverick laughed. “Okay. What do I get if I win?”

Ice shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

Maverick considered a moment. “I don’t know. Can I think about it?”

Ice gave him a sideways look. “I guess. But I reserve the right to veto.”

They shook on it.

***

Ice had graduated from crutches to a cane. He was walking with a limp, but he was walking. His transfer came through okay, though Maverick had received a pissed off phone call from Ice’s old CO bemoaning his loss.

“I do you a goddamn favor, and you snake my best pilot? You son of a bitch.”

He fit nicely into the TOPGUN staff; he was a competent teacher, even grounded as he was by the physical requirements.

“I’d give my left nut to be in a plane today,” he said wistfully, watching the mechanics ready the jets.

“You’ll be up again in no time,” Maverick said, but the words came out hollow. He’d never been grounded.

Ice let it go, though, slipping on his aviators and snapping his gum irritably. Maverick decided to change the subject.

“O Club after work?”

Ice’s aviators made his face an unreadable mask. “Can’t,” he said. “I have therapy.”

“I thought that was Thursdays.”

“That’s physical therapy. This is . . . you know, for the other thing.”

Ice’s shell shock. He’d agreed to go to therapy, even under some duress, and Maverick was proud as hell of him for it. But he’d been pretty tight-lipped on the matter; Maverick wasn’t sure how far he could push.

“Good for you, Tom,” he said gently. “How’s it going?”

Ice shrugged. “Okay, I guess. It’s uncomfortable, but I guess it’s like going to the gym; you have to hurt some to make any real progress.”

“What’s your therapist like? Boring old guy who falls asleep during your sessions?”

“It’s a woman.”

Maverick perked up. “Really? Is she hot?”

“Yeah, I guess. She’s got great legs.”

“Have you fucked her?”

Ice shot him a withering gaze. “She’s my therapist, Maverick. That wouldn’t be prudent, now would it?”

Maverick snorted. “Prudent: no. Fun: yes.”

“Anyway, I’m kind of involved.”

Maverick raised his brow. “Oh yeah? You got a girlfriend, Iceman?”

Ice’s cheeks hollowed.

“Is that what you’d like to be called?” he said tightly.

Maverick blushed. “Fuck you,” he muttered. He looked around to make sure there was no one within earshot, then added, in a near-whisper, “I didn’t know we were, you know . . .”

“Exclusive?”

“A thing.”

Ice shrugged. “Maybe we’re not.”

“Ice.”

Ice ignored him. “Maybe I should take out my therapist.”

“Ice.”

“Maybe if I fuck her well enough, she’ll see me for free.”

“Tom.”

Ice stopped talking, finally looked Maverick in the face.

“Don’t—I just didn’t think about it,” Maverick said. “Don’t get defensive.”

“I’m not defensive.”

He definitely was, but Maverick decided the bright move would be to let it go. “Okay, well, then just accept my apology.”

“I would, if you’d apologize.”

Maverick huffed, but he swallowed his pride. “I’m sorry.”

Ice relaxed infinitesimally. “Apology accepted.”

“So,” Maverick said wryly. “I’m your girlfriend, huh?”

Ice allowed himself a small smile. “Maybe. If you’re good.”

***

Maverick lay awake. Funny, how he’d never noticed before how huge and empty his bed was.

He looked at the clock, did the mental math to calculate how much longer he had to lay there before it was time to get up for work. He did the mental math between the current time and the time it would be acceptable to call someone up in the middle of the night.

Maverick looked at the silver disc of the moon hung low in the sky, and wondered if Ice was looking at the same moon.

***

He ran into Ice in the parking lot.

“How was therapy?”

Ice shrugged. “Same old, same old. ‘Lay on the couch, Tom, and tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets.’”

“Sounds delightful. You should do something fun this evening to make up for it. Come over after work? I’ll not cook something for you.”

Ice shook his head. “I can’t. I have an appointment.”

“More therapy?”

“No, it’s with a real estate agent.”

“Why? I’ll make a call, get you some company housing.”

“Blackwood’s old place? Please. Anyway, I’m thinking of making an investment.”

Maverick’s brow rose. “You’re buying a place?”

“Market’s good,” was all Ice would say.

***

“Market’s good.” What the hell did that mean?

Maverick tried watching television. He tried counting sheep and playing cards and reading the telephone book.

He couldn’t sleep.

The neon face of his alarm clock informed him it was far too late to make a telephone call to anyone but 911. Still. Maverick didn’t get to where he was today by obeying the rules.

“Hello?”

“Tom.”

A long pause. “Maverick, what the fuck?”

“I just . . . how was house hunting? You find anything?”

Another excruciating pause. “You called me for that?”

“I can’t sleep,” Maverick admitted.

Ice sighed. “I’m not your mommy. You don’t call me to tuck you in.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that why you called? Is this a booty call?”

Hearing Ice say _booty call_ was more shocking than the sentiment itself.

“Why?” Maverick asked. “Would you come over?”

Another long pause. Then, “I can be there in ten minutes.”

***

Maverick considered moving the coffee pot directly to his desk. He was going through at least a pot a day, he knew it.

Ugh. This not sleeping thing was giving him heartburn. Or maybe that was all the coffee.

“You look like shit.”

Maverick jumped at the velvety purr originating just inches from him. He swung around; Ice, smirking like a son of a bitch. How did he get so stealthy?

“Shut up,” Maverick said. Then, “It’s your fault.”

Ice snorted. “Yeah, I’m not taking the blame for that. You said you’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Maverick poured himself more coffee. “I have.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“A headshrinker?”

“Maybe. If that’s what you need.”

“I’ll pass, thanks. How’d things go with the realtor?”

“Okay. I signed some papers.”

“That was fast.”

“I’ve been looking for a while.”

Maverick was stung. Shouldn’t he have known that? Maybe Ice’s business was none of his business.

“You should come by my new place,” Ice said. “I’ve got no furniture—just a bed.”

He grinned his shark grin, all shining teeth and promise of trouble.

***

Ice’s new place was closer to TOPGUN, and also to Maverick’s apartment.

“Nice location,” Maverick said, giving Ice a lingering look. Ice just shrugged.

The new house was a little Mediterranean number hidden behind a copse of desert willows. It was only one level, and Maverick wondered how much pain Ice’s hip was giving him still.

The tap of Ice’s cane echoed off the hardwood floors. Maverick looked around. Ice hadn’t been lying; there wasn’t a stick of furniture in the main hall or the living room, though there were boxes lined neatly against the walls. Ice led him back past the kitchen, through a set of sliding glass doors.

“This is why I bought the place,” he said.

Ice didn’t so much have a back porch so much as he had a large, covered pool. He walked up to the water’s edge, looked down.

“I know what I want if I win our bet,” Maverick said.

Ice didn’t look up from the water. “Oh yeah?”

“I want to fuck you right here. In the pool.”

Ice let out a low gasp; the sound sent shivers up Maverick’s spine.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice smaller than usual.

Maverick came up next to him, bumped Ice’s shoulder with his own.

“You bought the place for a pool?” Maverick asked. “Who are you, Hugh Hefner?”

Ice laughed. “It’s good exercise. Good, low-impact exercise. For my hip.”

“Sure,” Maverick said. “You’re not going to throw any sexy parties here.”

Ice turned to him, tugged at his belt loop. “I could,” he said softly, “if you’d come.”

***

The only furniture in the house was the bed, if you didn’t count the stack of boxes Ice was using as a bedside table; there was an alarm clock on it, and a clutter of things you might need suddenly in the middle of the night. The bed was dark wood, modern in design. It was made with military precision, the lines of the sheets razor straight.

Ice sat on the mattress, and rested his cane against the makeshift bedside table.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

Maverick went, filling the space between Ice’s legs. Ice brought his hands up, slipped them up under Maverick’s shirt, tickling the sensitive skin of his abdomen. Maverick took his shirt off over his head, and then stripped Ice of his. He pushed Ice to his back, and Ice stayed, watching him like a jungle cat—lazily, with some interest but no worries. Maverick climbed over him, careful of Ice’s hip—he had gotten good at that—and kissed him, pressing him down into the mattress.

“Want you,” Ice murmured, running his hands up and down Maverick’s back.

“I’m all yours,” Maverick said, and kissed him.

***

Maverick woke to a howl. At first he thought, _coyotes_ , but then it came again, hollow and pained. And close. Ice.

Maverick shook him awake, and had to dodge a blow as Ice swung out wildly. Ice made a wounded noise and then wrenched himself from Maverick’s grasp, pulling back into a small ball at the head of the bed, panting.

“It’s okay,” Maverick said. It came out stale; his comforting people skills were pretty rusty. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Ice’s eyes lighted on him briefly. They were wide, spooked, but Maverick could see Ice behind them, not the blank, feral stare he’d seen when he’d first woken him.

Ice bent his head, worked on slowing his breathing. Maverick pawed through the debris littering the makeshift bedside table until he found the prescription bottle with _take as needed for anxiety_ written on it. He held it out for Ice.

Ice shook his head. “No. I’m supposed to try and handle it without meds.”

Maverick put the bottle back, and climbed up on the bed next to Ice. Ice was balled up, his limbs close to his body like an injured animal’s.

“Can I touch you?”

Ice nodded, and Maverick put his arms around him. Ice’s breaths started to slow; he was quiet.

“What are you doing?” Maverick asked.

“I’m supposed to concentrate on my breathing. Shut up.”

Maverick shut up. He held Ice, felt his body relax as his breaths grew longer and longer. After a long time, Ice nodded.

“Okay,” he said.

“You’re all right?”

“I’m all right.”

They moved back against the bank of pillows. Ice pressed himself against Maverick’s shoulder until Maverick put an arm around him. His sweat had gone cold, and he shivered a bit. Maverick held him tighter.

“I told my therapist about you,” Ice said.

“Is that safe?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality. She can’t tell anyone.”

“Still, if she’s with the VA—”

“She’s not. I’m seeing a civilian.”

Maverick relaxed. “Good. What’d you tell her?”

“Just . . . about you. About us.”

“You told her we’re sleeping together?”

Ice frowned. “Is that all this is?”

“No. But what would you call it?”

“An affair, I guess. That’s what I told her. That I’m having an affair.”

“Is that all you told her? Or did you tell her with who?”

“ _Whom_ , and yes. I told her all about you.”

“What’d she say?”

Ice was quiet a moment. “That I should trust you,” he said finally. “That I should tell you about what I’m going through, and let you help me.”

Maverick laughed shortly. “Psychobabble. You planning on taking her advice?”

“I let you hold me back there, didn’t I?”

Maverick pulled him close. “Yeah, you did.”  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  


  



	2. Chapter 2

  
Maverick got the final numbers in, and grinned. He sent notice to the engravers, and then went to find Ice.

He was in his office. Maverick closed and locked the door behind him; Ice creased his brow, but didn’t ask questions.

“Got the final scores in.”

“And?”

Maverick couldn’t contain his grin. He slapped the score sheet down on Ice’s desk. “And you better get some fucking floaties, because it’s Jazz by two points.”

***

When they got to Ice’s, he didn’t say a word, just stripped en route to the pool. Maverick followed along the breadcrumb trail of Ice’s abandoned clothing. He got to the pool just in time to see Ice, fully naked, dive in.

Ice swam to the side, his eyes running up and down Maverick’s still clothed body.

“You coming?”

Maverick tore off his clothes and more tripped into the pool than jumped. Ice laughed.

“You’re goddamn graceful,” he said. “Maybe you should have been a ballet dancer.”

Maverick rubbed chlorine out of his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Ice was as graceful in the water as a sea lion. The water slicked his blonde hair back, glistened off his tan skin.

Maverick splashed awkwardly through the water. “Isn’t this hard on your leg?”

“Are you kidding? This feels great on my leg. Like it’s weightless.”

He swam up to Maverick, kissed him quickly, and then swam away, laughing. Maverick sighed and chased after him.

“Would you come here?”

Ice nailed him with his cool stare. “Come get me.”

He bobbed, waiting. Maverick dogpaddled out to him.

“How’d you get so good at this?” he panted.

Ice grinned. “I’m in the Navy.”

“I’m serious,” Maverick said. He reached Ice, then put his hands on Ice’s shoulder so he didn’t upend while treading water. “I’m in the Navy, too, but I’m a pilot, not a squid.”

“I grew up around the water,” Ice said.

“Oh yeah? Where’re you from?”

“Honolulu.”

Maverick’s brow rose. “Pearl Harbor.”

“That’s right. I told you my father was in the service.”

“Was he a pilot?”

“No, he liked his boats.”

“So why’d you become a pilot?”

Ice laughed. “Why did you?”

“Fair point.”

Ice kissed him. “So much talking. I thought you wanted to fuck.”

Maverick was beginning to doubt his ability to stay upright in the water long enough for sex. He nodded to the side of the pool; together, he and Ice swam there. Maverick grabbed onto the concrete edge like he’d been afraid he’d never touch land again. Ice rested a hand on the side, casually.

“Turn around,” Maverick said.

Ice leaned over the side, bracing himself with his arms. Maverick let go of the side long enough to push himself through the water and behind Ice; he then grabbed around Ice for the side again. Ice laughed, but Maverick forgave him; Ice was pleasantly slick against him, and waiting for him.

Maverick worked his fingers up into Ice, and Ice groaned, pressing himself against the tile wall.

“Lube,” he panted.

“No time for that.”

“I disagree.”

Maverick sighed. He clambered out of the pool and trotted down the hall to Ice’s bedroom. There were condoms and lube on the makeshift bedside table; he snatched them up and walked back outside.

“Did you drip water all over my hardwood floors?” Ice demanded.

“No,” Maverick said. “I stopped dripping while I was in the house, and started back up again when I got back outside.”

Ice scowled. Maverick and the requested items jumped back in the pool. Ice leaned against the side; Maverick positioned himself behind him. Using Ice’s shoulder for leverage, he got Ice ready, and then himself. It was hard going in the water, bobbing everywhere, but Ice was patient. Finally, Maverick was ready. He pushed gently into Ice—or he meant to. He stumbled in the unsteadiness of the water, pushing in too hard, too far. Ice cursed, bent his head.

“Sorry, sorry.”

It was awkward at first, but after a moment, Maverick got the hang of it. He used the side of the pool for leverage, moved inside Ice. Ice surged against Maverick’s hand, the buoyancy of the water making his movement seem effortless, more like the water was pushing him than he was moving himself.

“Yes,” Ice murmured, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. “God, Maverick, so good—”

Maverick was getting close, too, too close to talk. He panted against the nape of Ice’s neck, held onto his shoulder with a death grip. He was so tight, and it was so good, so hot watching Ice squirm like that, listening to the dirty, pretty things that came out of his luscious mouth.

Maverick came hard, eyes flooding with stars, and Ice a moment over, bucking desperately into Maverick’s hand. They slumped over each other, hugging the side of the pool, until their pulses returned to normal.

Maverick chuckled, and patted Ice’s shoulder.

“Sex in the pool,” he said. “You are Hugh Hefner.”

***

Maverick heard feet pounding down the hallway. He had half a mind to get up and tear the pilot responsible a new asshole, but disciplinarian was never a hat he wore well, so he let it go.

There was a screech of rubber on linoleum, and then Maverick’s door burst open. Ice, flushed and grinning, sans-cane, filled the doorway, then slammed the door behind him, twisting the lock.

“Jesus Christ, Kazansky, what’s gotten into you?”

Ice ran over to Maverick’s desk. He grabbed Maverick’s shirtfront and used his hold to hoist Maverick to his feet.

“I’ve been cleared for active duty!” Ice said.

His grin was so big Maverick thought it might tear his face. He kissed Maverick hard, then took him by the waist and lifted him onto his own desk, knocking pens and papers all over the place

“Jesus—”

“Do you know what this means?” Ice asked, his fingers busy loosing the buttons of Maverick’s fatigues.

“That you’re a crazy person?”

“I can _fly_ , Maverick. This means I can fly!”

Ice’s lips traveled over the sensitive skin of Maverick’s throat; his hands unbuckled Maverick’s belt, unzipped his fly.

Maverick moaned as Ice’s teeth closed down on his ear. His fingers threaded through Ice’s hair. “I thought you had another couple months before they’d let you in a plane.”

“Passed my physical and my psych eval this morning.”

Ice knelt between Maverick’s knees, pressed kisses to the front of Maverick’s briefs. Maverick’s fingers tightened in Ice’s hair; he moaned, low.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he gasped. “But why are we doing this?”

“Celebrating,” Ice said, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of Maverick’s underwear.

“I—oh, God—shouldn’t we—shouldn’t we be doing that in the air?”

Ice stopped what he was doing, looked up. “What do you mean? Classes are over—”

“I’m in charge, remember? I can get you in the air; we’ll just say we’re running some training drills with instructors.”

Ice jumped up, and kissed Maverick as hard as he’d ever been kissed. “Really?”

Maverick was starting to ache. He motioned to his open fly. “You’re not going to finish this.”

“After,” Ice said impatiently. “You’ll get me in the air?”

Maverick sighed. When would he learn to keep his stupid mouth shut? He slid off his desk, started righting his uniform. “Sure. Go get your flight suit on.”

***

Ice was practically bouncing. He was still limping when he walked, Maverick noticed, but Ice’s face didn’t register any pain; it didn’t register anything beyond excitement. Maverick didn’t think he’d ever seen Ice so happy.

When they came to Ice’s plane, he moaned quietly. He spent a moment patting her, his palms flat, the way you might rub down a horse. Maverick wanted to laugh, but Ice looked so enraptured, so happy, that he couldn’t.

Ice hopped up to the cockpit. “You coming?”

Maverick motioned to his own plane. “I’ll see you up there.”

***

There was no way around it: Ice was a genius in a plane. In the eight years since Maverick had last seen him fly, his talents had only increased. His technical proficiency was near perfect; it far exceeded Maverick’s own, he knew. Still, Ice was a stickler for the rules, and that limited his vision; Maverick didn’t have that problem.

They roared off the runway and into the sky. Maverick heard Ice laugh over the com, an exhalation of pure, unadulterated joy.

“Once around the campus?” Maverick asked.

Ice zoomed off ahead of him. Maverick laughed and pursued.

***

Once back on the ground, they headed to the showers. Ice was still smiling that smile that threatened to split his face apart, and he practically ran, skipping around Maverick like an excited puppy.

“Your leg’s gonna give you hell in the morning,” Maverick said.

“I don’t give a shit,” Ice said.

“Yeah, let’s hear that tomorrow.”

With the campus empty, the locker room was a dead zone. Maverick stripped off his flight suit and padded barefoot to the shower. Ice was already there, naked except for his dog tags, standing beneath the spray. Rivulets of water traced Ice’s muscular form as gravity took them to the drain; Maverick’s mouth went dry.

Ice turned to him, grinning. “Thanks, Mav. For the flight.”

Before Maverick could respond, Ice had him pushed back against the tiles, was devouring his mouth.

“After,” Ice said. “I promised.”

Ice took him standing, Maverick pressed against the wall. His hands clawed for purchase against the slick tile as Ice brought him closer and closer.

Right before he came, Ice growled against Maverick’s ear, “This is payback for the pool.”

***

There was a lot to oversee for the awards ceremony, so Maverick didn’t see Ice until the thing had begun. As Maverick took the stage, the Top Gun plaque in hand, he caught a glimpse of Ice in the crowd. He was wearing his dress whites and leaning heavily on his cane. Maverick smirked; he’d been right about Ice overdoing it, and he planned to tell him so.

Maverick caught up with Ice after giving the new graduates their orders. He was eating a piece of cake, his cane leaning against the buffet table.

“Nice speech, teach,” Ice said, licking icing from the prongs of his fork.

“Fuck you,” Maverick said, and then immediately apologized to the scandalized grandmother that had just wandered into earshot. Ice grinned.

“Later, if you want,” Ice said once she’d gone.

“How’s the leg?”

Ice made a sour face.

“Told you so,” Maverick said, unable to help himself.

“Fuck you.”

“Tonight,” Maverick said, and went to pose for a few photographs, leaving Ice alone with his cake.

***

Ice had bought some furniture since Maverick’s last visit.

“It’s starting to look like a house in here,” he said. “Put some paint on the walls, maybe hang up a few pictures, it might look like someone actually lives here.”

“Let’s not get crazy,” Ice said. “Can I get you a drink?”

Ice had bought some beer, some dark German shit with a name Maverick couldn’t pronounce. Ice had one, too; Maverick raised an eyebrow.

“What about doctor’s orders?” he asked.

“I’m off the pain meds,” Ice said. “I got cleared to fly, remember?”

“How’s your hip?”

“Not intolerable. The pain’s less every day.”

“Good.”

“Yeah,” Ice said. “Good.”

He set his beer down and went to crowd Maverick against the counter. Jesus, but he was big; Maverick felt boxed in. Ice kissed him; he tasted malty, smooth. Ice’s hands around Maverick’s waist, pulling him up onto his tiptoes, up against the counter. Ice’s knee jutted between Maverick’s legs, and Maverick thrust himself up on it, rubbing his erection against Ice’s leg. Ice’s mouth at his pulse point; Maverick threaded his fingers through Ice’s hair and held him in place. How could a guy called Iceman be so fucking hot? His mouth was like an inferno, and it drove Maverick from reason. He rode Ice’s leg, rode it hard, until his vision was flooding white and he was calling Ice’s name over and over, Ice Ice _Ice_.

***

Afterwards, they took their beer to the pool. Maverick sat on the steps, only half submerged and wonderfully grounded, while Ice swam around. The water at night, even tame, chlorinated water like this, made Maverick nervous in a deep, primal way. He watched Ice cut through the dark water; every time he disappeared from view, Maverick had an insane notion that he’d been grabbed by something underneath, and he would never see him again.

“Could you quit that?” Maverick asked.

Ice stopped swimming. Droplets of water dripped down from his hair. “Quit what?”

“Your dolphin routine. It’s making me . . . dizzy.”

Ice frowned, and did another lap. Maverick decided on a different tack.

“Come here,” he said.

Ice swam up to the stairs. Maverick handed him another beer; Ice sat down beside him and opened his beer, took a drink.

“Nice night,” Maverick said.

“It’s San Diego; it’s always nice.”

Maverick worried the label of his beer bottle with his thumbnail. “What’d you tell your therapist about me?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Ice said.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“You worried, Maverick?” he asked, with that way of saying Maverick’s name that no one else had, like the word was a burning brand he had to expel from his mouth.

“Come on.”

Ice shrugged. He drank his beer. “You know, that you’re a pain in the ass but a decent pilot—”

“Decent?”

“—that you’re terrible for me, and that I’m out of my mind to be dating you.”

“We’re dating?”

“Whatever we’re doing, I’m crazy for doing it.”

“So, do you want to stop?”

Ice grinned. “Hell no.”  



	3. Chapter 3

  
Something pushed Maverick from sleep. He opened his eyes, squinted through the black at the neon numbers on his alarm clock: 2:15. What the hell had woken him up? Then it came again: a pounding. Someone was at the door.

Maverick sighed, and padded down the hall to the front door, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Maverick opened the door to find Ice, looking wired. Before he could say anything, Ice pushed past him into the apartment.

“The fuck?” Maverick said. “You know what time it is?”

“No. Late. Early, whatever.”

Maverick closed and locked the door, then studied Ice, thinking maybe he’d been drinking. But Ice’s eyes were clear, and if anything, he was too alert.

“What do you want?” Maverick asked.

“You know I flew in the Gulf, right?” Ice asked. He paced around a bit, fidgeted with his hands. “My therapist says I should talk to you.”

“Okay,” Maverick said. “So talk.”

He went to sit on the sofa, thinking Ice might follow him. Ice just kept pacing.

“We got shot down, over the Gulf—over the water—it took two days to . . .” He shook his head, trailed off.

“And?” Maverick said. Ice didn’t say anything, so he added, “Do you want to talk about this?”

Ice shook his head again. “No.”

“Then don’t. Why’d you come here?”

Ice stopped pacing. He looked at Maverick. “I had a nightmare. And when I woke up, you weren’t there. And . . . and I guess I just wanted you to be there.”

Maverick rose from the couch. He went over to Ice, rested his hand on Ice’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he said.

Ice didn’t move. “Where are we going?”

“Back to bed.”

Ice followed him down the hall.

***

Ice slept through the night. They woke before the alarm and nestled against each other, sleep slow, kissing and touching each other lazily beneath the canopy of the sheet.

“My hip’s much better,” Ice said. “It’s stronger every day.”

“Okay,” Maverick said, missing his meaning.

“I want to do it on my back,” Ice said. “I think my hip’s strong enough.”

Maverick took him on his back, Ice’s legs up on his shoulders. It was a little unnerving at first, Ice’s cool gaze zeroed in on him the whole time, but then he got to see Ice’s face when he came, and that was worth it many times over.

They showered together, mostly chastely, and then Ice made pancakes in the wok, because Maverick didn’t own a griddle. He tossed them in the air to flip them, and when one went a little high and stuck itself to Maverick’s ceiling, Ice just laughed and laughed.

“You should come over tonight,” Maverick said, catching Ice at the door as he left to go home to change for work. “Keep you from waking me up in the middle of the night.”

Ice just kissed him, but that was enough of an answer. Maverick went to scrape the pancake off his ceiling.

***

Ice brought an overnight bag; Maverick tried not to stare at it like it was some strange relic from an alien world.

Ice usually cooked, so Maverick tried to even the playing field by ordering in some Chinese, since his culinary skills did not expand beyond warming up microwave pizzas. Ice’s quick hands were ridiculously good with chopsticks; Maverick tried not to think of all the other things they were ridiculously good at.

Distracting. The man was distracting.

Maverick had a bet with Hollywood on the fight, so he and Ice crowded onto the couch to watch. Ice wanted to stretch out his bad leg, and he took up most of the couch, so Maverick sat scrunched in the corner and Ice leaned against him, his leg outstretched.

The fight got over late, and it had been a long day at TOPGUN. Once in bed they kissed a little, and then just drifted off, curled against each other.

***

Maverick woke peacefully the next morning. He moved about under the sheets a little, trying to find the magic sleep space, but it eluded him.

He bumped shoulders with Ice, who made a small, indignant noise, and then fell heavily back to sleep.

Panic thrummed through Maverick’s veins. Ice had spent the night. Ice had spent the night, and they had slept in the same bed, and they hadn’t had sex. They had just slept. Maverick scooted along the mattress until he and Ice weren’t touching anymore. They had just slept. What the hell did that _mean_?

They got up and showered without incident. Ice, dressed in his uniform because he had brought an overnight bag to their sexless sleepover, made eggs. Maverick sat at the table watching him.

“We didn’t have sex last night,” Maverick said, with all the grace of a lead weight.

Ice glanced back at him. “It was late, and we were tired.” Maverick didn’t say anything, and Ice added, “I thought this wasn’t just sex.”

“Right,” Maverick said. “I just meant . . .”

But then he couldn’t think of what he meant, and he trailed off.

Ice gave him a look, eyebrow raised, as he brought Maverick a plate of eggs. “So, you thought this wasn’t _just_ sex, but it was _mostly_ sex.”

“I guess—”

“See, I thought last night was supposed to be about me.”

“Ice—”

Ice steamrolled over him. “Which I guess was a stupid assumption, that anything could be about me when we’re on The Maverick Show.”

“Now wait a minute—”

Ice sighed. “Look, if you know what you want from me, just tell me. Don’t lead me on. I’m betting a lot on this.”

“Me too. Ice, listen, I didn’t mean—aw, fuck it.”

Maverick grabbed Ice by the waist, and pulled him down. Ice was too startled to do anything but fall into Maverick’s lap, spilling eggs everywhere.

“The fuck—”

Maverick kissed him, hard enough that Ice shut up, hard enough that Ice went limp against him.

“Maverick,” Ice managed weakly when they broke for air.

“Shut up, Kazansky,” Maverick said, and kissed him again.

***

They flew together again, this time with the new class of TOPGUN students. Ice was an aggressive pilot, but also a tightly controlled one; he kept Maverick on his toes.

Maybe it was because the students were so fresh, but together they won every trial. Ice would bully or trick the students into position, and then Maverick would come up from behind and get weapons lock on them. Or else Maverick would get them into position, and Ice would lock on. It wasn’t effortless, and it wasn’t rote; the specifics were different every time. It was less like an exercise and more like a dance.

Maverick waited by Ice’s plane on the tarmac after their last hop, waited while Ice climbed down from the cockpit, grinning like a fool. He was sweating and mussed, his hair damp and his flight suit wrinkled; he had never looked more beautiful.

Maverick was bursting with things to say, but then Ice just smiled at him, and that was enough. He knew; he’d been there. Maverick had never had anyone who could understand so well what it was like to be a pilot, to be responsible for flight; even Goose hadn’t really understood what it meant. It was the most important thing in Maverick’s life; in some ways, it was his life. How was he supposed to be with somebody who couldn’t understand it?

Maverick clapped a hand on Ice’s shoulder, and together they walked to the showers.

***

Maverick was surfing through a hundred channels of nothing much when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Maverick?” Ice, his voice vague and faraway.

“Hey, Ice. What’s up?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

“What? What’s wrong with your car?”

“Nothing. I went to rehab, and we worked my leg out a little too hard . . . my therapist gave me a shot . . . I don’t think I should drive.”

That would explain his tone, all dreamy and drugged.

“Okay,” Maverick said. “You’re at the VA?”

Ice was sitting outside waiting for him when Maverick got to the VA. His posture was limp, his eyes glassy and unfocused. Maverick laughed, and helped Ice to his feet.

“They gave you the good drugs, huh?”

Ice planted his feet about a yard from the motorcycle, refusing to move any further.

“No,” he said. “I’m not getting on that death trap. You can drive my car.”

He fumbled through his pockets for the keys.

Maverick shook his head. “I don’t know how to drive a car. I told you.”

Ice looked up from rummaging through his pockets. “I thought that was a joke.”

“No. I never learned. Here, look, I brought a helmet for you.”

Ice frowned. He stared at the bike.

“You are routinely in a vehicle that travels over six hundred miles an hour, you know that, right?” Maverick asked.

“Yeah,” Ice said. “But a plane’s all . . . enclosed.”

“It’s that or you walk home. On your bad, overworked leg.”

Ice stared at the bike, his face assuming an expression Maverick was pleased to categorize as a pout.

***

Ice’s fingers dug into Maverick’s stomach as he steered the motorcycle around a curve. He exhaled harshly, his breath on Maverick’s neck. Ice was closer than he needed to be on the back of the bike, his pelvis pressed to Maverick’s ass, his chest to his back, but Maverick could tell by the shaking of Ice’s hands that it wasn’t lust keeping him close.

“Don’t be a baby!” Maverick shouted over the wind.

“I hate you,” Ice said.

Maverick accelerated, and Ice held on for dear life.

***

Ice lay out on Maverick’s couch. He took up the whole thing; Maverick lifted Ice’s feet up, slid himself beneath them. It was that or sit on the floor.

“You drive like a crazy person,” Ice said. “I’m never getting on that thing ever again.”

“You say that now.” Ice blinked druggedly, and Maverick had a lot of work to keep himself from laughing. “How are you feeling?”

Ice relaxed back against his pillow. “Sleepy.”

“You look stoned.”

“I think . . . I am.”

Maverick laughed. “New experience for you?”

“Newish. I was on a lot of drugs when I first hurt my hip. Surgeries.”

“I bet you hated that.”

“I did.”

Maverick ran his hands over Ice’s shinbones. “Well, you can stay here as long as you want.”

Ice frowned. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ice didn’t say anything. “Ice. _Ice_.” Then, softly, “Tom.”

“Remember I told you that I told my therapist about you?”

“Yeah.”

“She asked me if it was just sex, or if we were in love.”

Maverick’s insides ran cold. “Yeah? And what did you tell her?”

“That it was somewhere in the middle.”

“But now?”

“Now . . . I don’t know. I just know that I want to be with you. When we can.”

Maverick relaxed. He smiled. “Me too.”

Ice smiled back.

***

The pool was lit only by the underwater lights and the sliver of moon in the clear night sky. Maverick walked down the stairs, gripping the handrail as the water lapped higher and higher up his legs, watching Ice glide through the inky water. When water was dark, it looked like another state, like some great beast instead of a harmless liquid. Ice took a breath and disappeared from sight for a moment, the water swallowing him in one gulp.

Maverick let the water take his weight, and he swam out to where he’d last seen Ice. Something brushed his legs, and he started, fear running cold down his spine. And then Ice broke the water, droplets cascading off him silver in the moonlight, and Maverick’s heart beat itself back to normal.

They swam out into the middle of the pool, and Ice kept one hand on Maverick’s ribs as he swam, keeping him upright. It was easier with Ice with him, helping him along, and Maverick found the dark water didn’t bother him so much when Ice was right there.

“This is nice,” Maverick said, and Ice smiled.

“What happened to being afraid?”

“Fuck you, I was never afraid. I was just . . . cautious.”

“That’s not like you at all.”

“I know. Lucky for you, I’m feeling like myself again. Balls to the wall, no holds barred . . .”

“Dangerous?” Ice asked, his lips curled into a smirk.

Maverick wrapped his arms around Ice’s neck, and kissed him.

“Sometimes you have to risk for the best reward,” he said.

For a moment, it looked like Ice was going to say something, his lips parted. But then he just leaned in and kissed Maverick back, nice and slow.  



End file.
